I've been deemed a "Germaphobe" by many a jeering witness to my habits, but I prefer to think of it as hyperawareness. It's the ability (or curse) of seeing otherwise benign events and extrapolating them to their most detrimental. I see a classmate pick at something on the bottom of their shoe before placing their hand on the desk, and I make a mental note to never sit in that spot for the rest of the quarter; the man behind whom I'm walking on the sidewalk coughs, and I stop-short my inhalation until I pass him so as not to breathe the infectious air he released; I dedicate just one finger (the ring) all day to opening doors, refusing to submit the other 4 to the germ-ridden handles so that I may later scratch my face with them should the need arise. It's an ever-present vigilance that can't be turned off, but its potency is never higher than when I am in the convention center of all germs: the city bus.
I know that public transit is great for the environment, cuts down on traffic, and is a great way to meet new clientele for your burgeoning drug dealing business--the benefits abound--but it's also cheap, which attracts a specific kind of crowd to its seats. Setting aside us, the cleanly and presentable university students riding to campus everyday, there is a cast of characters that always seem to make an appearance on the King County Metro. Here are their credits:
Smokey Joe - You know the plethora of cigarette butts around the bench at the bus stop that you assume are an accumulation of 20 or so smokers throughout the day? They all belong to this guy. Judging by the smell emanating from him, he smokes at least 2 packs of Marlboro Reds in the 5 minutes of wait time it takes for the 75 to round the corner. Also, judging by his appearance, he's reallocated his entire clothing budget of the last 3 decades to buying more smokes. But it's okay, he's still rocking the hell out of that 1985 brown bomber jacket.
Trailer Park Queen - This beauty can count her teeth on both hands and still have 2 fingers left to hold her menthol cigarette. Usually proudly sporting some "Juicy" sweatpants and a bedazzled t-shirt that so eloquently drifts up to reveal the bottom third of her grotesque mid-section, she makes sure to position herself towards the front of the bus so that everyone can admire her demure. Cue gag. This is much to the dismay of the driver, because she takes it upon herself to engage the poor guy in conversation, rapping off tidbits of her supremely unenviable life. "Yeah, my ex-boyfriend's in prison now, but when he gets out, we're gettin' back together, buyin' a nice ol' van and travelin' down to Oregon, cuz his uncle's got a dog fightin' ring, an' we's gon' git rich!" If he wasn't the one driving the bus, he would be throwing himself under it as soon as he could.
Sleeping Beauty - I'm going to go out on a short limb and say this guy is unemployed, because evidently he has not a thing to do but hop on the bus in the morning, fall asleep, and unconsciously ride the route around the city until nightfall. From Space Needle to terminal this hefty fellow snoozes; oh the things he must've seen...if he weren't preoccupied with staining the window with his unending steak of drool.
Patient Zero - I understand that the high population and close proximity of commuters in China somewhat necessitates extra care to avoid contagion, but here in the states, wearing the surgical mask in public makes this writer a tad uneasy. I don't know if you're afraid of catching a disease or if you're the one with it, but I've seen enough zombie movies to know not to sit next to you.
Riff-Raff & Street Rats - I know I sound like an old man here, but why aren't these kids in school? It's 12-noon on a Tuesday and they're riding around Seattle without so much as a backpack on! Wielding a skateboard and a bag of McDonald's to share, these hoodlums tend to travel in packs of 6, but somehow produce 13 different arguments among one another, each trying to yell louder than the last.
Mee-maw & Paw-paw - If it weren't so sad, this might be a really endearing elderly couple. They shakily shuffle onto the bus at a rate so slow you start to get pissed-off at your route's delay, until you look up to see two 80-year-olds struggling to climb 3 steps. Then you just feel like a dick. There must be an expiration on giving-a-shit and these people have clearly passed it. These ballsy folks creak out the door in the morning and arthritically charge into the chaotic system of public transit without the slightest hint of a plan as to how to get to their destination. Most people use Google Maps or some other kind of trip-planner, but not Mee-maw and Paw-paw. No, for them a vague idea conveyed to a stranger through a confused and stinted query will suffice. And if you've ever seen one of them pull out their phone, you know there is know plan-B for them. Those relics are pre-Brick-Breaker, let alone any navigation app. I compel any reader to try that: leave your iPhone at home, walk to a random bus-stop, hop blindly on the first bus, and just ask strangers how to get to where you're going. Chances are, you would end up scared and alone in some dark corner of the city, praying for the know-how to use a pay phone and request a rescue. Good thing we pity the elderly. But it does beg the question: why can't they get a ride from someone? Surely they have a nurse/caregiver/grandson-who-got-in-trouble-with-his-parents who can be forced to take them to the doctor, park, liquor store, or wherever it is that seniors go, right? Or maybe not. Maybe they've been huge A-holes all their lives and have burned all their bridges. Either way, God bless 'em.
A handful of weeks ago, I was riding to campus for my morning classes. A few of the aforementioned cast were expectedly scattered around the seats, but sitting across from me on the front-most bench seats was a mother with her baby. A clean enough-looking commuter, she was relatively attractive, dressed presentably, and the baby looked happy and healthy. Certainly, she didn't belong to the same breed as Smokey Joe and the gang. The infant, strapped into a Baby-Bjorn, was happily gnawing on mom's bus pass, drooling all over his tiny hands, and staring wide-eyed at me across the way. It was a pretty cute scene. Then, all charm vanished.
The baby, hands frictionless from the amassed saliva, dropped the bus pass on the floor of the bus. I, expecting a wailing eruption of displeasure from the kid, was just as crestfallen as he. But no, instead of the predicted welling of tears, the mom picked up the bus pass, gave it a cursory one-two wipe on her jeans, and returned it to the baby who then proceeded to shove it back in his mouth, masticating as gleefully as ever. I nearly vomited.
The mind of a child is pure. This kid doesn't know that the floor upon which his sucking toy had been retrieved had also been the host of dirt, dog hair, homeless people's spit, chewed and discarded gum, human hair, dust, sticky spilled drinks, nail clippings (yes, to my repulsion, I once saw someone clip their toenails on the bus), mucus, coins that have their own germ-infested histories, and the soles of shoes of thousands of riders (which should alone be enough to induce regurgitation). The kid didn't know any better, he just kept biting at the card, staring at me with the same dumb look on his face. But shame on mom! She had to know! Maybe it's my own germaphobia/hyperawareness, and I assume everyone has at least a modicum of an idea as to what is all around them, but two wipes on your Levis? Really, lady? Quite the sterilization; fit for your own flesh and blood.
But I'm no parent, so perhaps I can't rightly speak to this. Maybe she knew the wails that would ensue if she hadn't returned the toy, and decided to put his happiness above my appetite. Maybe being awoken 6 times in a night by a screaming ball-of-joy is enough to devalue the wellbeing of the adorable little attention-hound. I don't know. What I do know is that this instance was enough for me to not want to spawn one of these germ-factories for a very long time.